A Guitar To Punish Your Ma

Sweetpea's favorite chair, where my butt is currently parked.

This morning, Sweetpea began making the Take me to the hospital noise at Pete, who recognized it from last Memorial Day weekend. Pete called me on the verge of panic, but couldn’t really explain why he was nervous. When I got home, I opened the front door and smelled illness. The vet had an open appointment at 6, which gave me plenty of time to rub half our house with disinfectant wipes. At the vet’s office, a new vet in the practice saw Sweetpea, who curled up in my arms until we were both sick-stinky. The vet agreed our darling was sick and needed an overnight with fluids and medicines. I was reluctant to leave her and briefly considered a weepy retreat, but I had to go to a union contract ratification vote on the way home. And I did. Tomorrow morning, we hope Sweetpea will feel better.

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